


Stuck

by mollyslame



Category: DreamSMP, dnf - Fandom, dreamnotfound - Fandom, dreamteam - Fandom
Genre: DNF, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Mystery, Pain, Slow Burn, dreamnotfound, mlm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollyslame/pseuds/mollyslame
Summary: George's breath hitches on Clay's soft lips, exasperated and attempting to muster up the right words.A smirk tugs at the corners of Clay's mouth, before he purses his lips and spits his bubblegum onto the boy in front of him.It takes a moment, though not long before George finally breathes out almost whisper-like, "What the fuck?"And with that, Clay knows he's got George right where he wants him.
Relationships: dreamnotfound - Relationship
Comments: 52
Kudos: 104





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this story! It was originally written by me on my old wattpad account for a different ship, but I decided to change it into a better-written version of a ship I prefer more:)  
> This is based on Bubblegum Bitch by Marina and the Diamonds! It's a great song hehe check it out.

The mere thought of him seemed to consume George more, day in and day out, full of rich hatred and utter despise.

It's progressed where George can create a list of everything that made him shudder with disinterest. His sense of humbleness, yet simultaneously not meek in the slightest. How he seems to be naturally gifted at nearly everything presented to him; whether it be sports, academics, musicianship, technology, _anything_ , his performance is impeccable. His absent flirting with any sorry sole he can catch under the dim, shaky lights of the hallways. How he never falters his admirable appearance, sustaining him as almost untouchable to his imperfect and resigned classmates. But most importantly, George has ensured himself, the worst thing about Clay is the bubblegum he smacks on ceaselessly, steadily rotting his perfect teeth.

Every time George has been so unfortunate as to catch a glimpse of Clay, he is, without fail, gnawing on the same-flavored, same-branded bubblegum (he can practically smell the wretched cotton candy odor linger throughout campus). It makes George gag, but more importantly, it alarms him for when his nemesis is near, leaving him hopeful of staying unnoticed. Clay himself is almost like chewing gum, George once entertained; obnoxious, appearance is short-lived, and has a habit of sticking around longer than desired, as if he was simply some pesky bubblegum adhered to the bottom of a tennis shoe.

Ultimately, something George wants to stay far, far away from.

George sat in his lecture hall, droning out the intensely dull English lesson. His mind wandered far away from rhetorical analysis practice, further into the depths of his imagination. He was halfway down his loathe list when he abruptly shook his head, jumbling up the catalog of hatred engraved in his brain. He hated Clay, this was true; one thing he hated more was thinking about him. He raised his hand, signaling his sudden and immediate need for a clear headspace. 

As he was about to enter the bathroom, his feet moved methodically and halted. He didn't want to look into the mirror today, he'd decided earlier that morning as his hair rejected to cooperate. Instead, George continues to the water fountain. Bending over, much to his distaste, he inhales the metallic-flavored liquid. Though he shudders with disgust, he is grateful for the instant, cooling relief. This relief immediately shies away as he distantly hears the sharp pop of a bubble.

Clay pooled back into his mind, _so much for a break_. As he turns on his heel ready to avoid an awful confrontation, he hears a voice boom behind him.

"Georgie!" He shrieked, the nickname rolling off his tongue like dice on a gameboard. George dry-heaved.

"What do you want, Clay?" George breathed out, turning to face the man. 

He has a golden complexion. His skin is rich and tan, his eyes are full of emerald vibrancy and glimmer. His hair flops messily about his scalp, yet always gives off the appearance of controlled: as if every chaotic strand of hair was intentionally assigned placement. He's tall, towering over George by half a foot or more, yet voids a gangly shape. Rather, Clay is built and muscled more than a college student would be expected. 

Bluntly, quite the opposite of George. He'd never admit how inferior it made him feel to know that in _every_ way, Clay is seen as better.

"Don't say it like that, Georgie!" Clay whines, pushing George's shoulder lightly. He shudders.

George has never been a fan of intimate, physical touch in any relation. He doesn't hug his mom, he doesn't sit uncomfortably close to his friends. Touch has never been apart of Goerge's vocabulary, and he liked it that way. He wouldn't get in the way of anyone, and they, him.

Clay plastered a small, utterly fake frown on his face. "I just have a question, is all," he urges, and George's silence is seen as a green light. 

The taller man reaches out, placing his hand directly above George's elbow. "Do you like anyone, hun?" Clay almost whispers, staring into George's eyes with a doe-like appearance.

George's pale complexion grows a flustered red, his whole face lighting a match. He stiffens further as Clay squeezes his arm lightly, gently. George's hair sticks up from goosebumps, opening his mouth to conjure a response but finding no words available. He is stuck in place, a tennis shoe with a piece of gum bonded to the sole, and allows himself to stare into Clay's eyes for one more moment before shaking his head and fiercely pulling back.

"I'm going back to class," he said in a huff, once again turning on his heel and hoping he has the power to stay strong-willed. 

"What a shame, I'm going to miss you, Georgie," Clay pouts aloud. 

_Nope._

George sighed in defeat, shifting to meet the eyes of his adversary. Clay's lips tugged at a smile.

"Come here," he said lowly, his voice vibrating with each syllable. George felt coaxed, manipulated, bewitched. He didn't have any other choice but to slowly stride towards Clay, who was beaming with a triumphant smirk. 

George stopped with two feet between them. Clay stepped forward and made it one.

He could smell the putrid cotton candy scent. He wanted to gag, all the while he couldn't seem to pull away. His chest blooms with curiosity and warmth.

George's breath hitches on Clay's soft lips, exasperated and attempting to muster up the right words.

A devilish smile pulls at the corners of Clay's mouth before he purses his lips and spits his bubblegum onto the boy in front of him.

It's not long before George finally breathes out almost whisper-like, "What the fuck?"

And with that, Clay knows he's got George right where he wants him.

Without another word, Clay retracts from his intimacy with George and calmly, yet somehow egotistically, walks away.

George felt redness boil inside of him. He has had this feeling plenty of times before, with Clay especially. It was similar to anger, yet not as chaotic. Maybe annoyance, but not as personal. It was red. That's the length George could describe it to, this gut-wrenching feeling. 

He swiftly turns to the fountain, letting the cold water pool within his hands before rubbing his face clear of saliva. 

_So fucking disgusting._

____________

Tapping his pencil against his desk, George stares at his calculus worksheet quizzingly. He flips the end of the pencil into his mouth, chewing it silently. A bad habit he's had since primary school, yes, but now oil to the gears in his brain. Implicit differentiation was George's weak spot; maybe if he could focus in, he'd be able to achieve-

Clay unzips his pencil case resoundingly, unwrapping a new piece of bubblegum he's ready to devour. George sighs, scratching his head with annoyance. He silently curses this stupid university for scheduling them in the same class. As expected, Clay began to smack on the piece, sparing no one as he chews with his mouth open (though, with George in front of him, Clay knew it would especially frustrate him).

George can't take it anymore as he quickly but silently whips around. "Can you shut your mouth, Clay?" He whispered in a bitter tone.

This only encouraged his rival more. Clay smiled, leaning forward. 

"Why don't you do that for me?" He rested his chin on his palm, staring directly into George's pupils.

The redness grew, and George seemed to be locked into the same trance as before. His cheeks grew a beet color as his eyes flickered from Clay's eyes to his lips, his eyes to his-

"George!" The sharp tone of the professor caused him to scurry his attention forward. "Please remind me as to why I need to remind you, every lecture, to stop conversing with Clay?" She raised her eyebrows, disappointment engraved in her complexion. George felt redder by each aching second. He muttered an apology and faced down at his work, clutching his pencil until his knuckles turned pale white. 

Clay giggled innocently.

Class was dismissed not long after. George gathered his things as quickly as he could, his mind racing with sickening embarrassment. Before he could stand up, Clay was looming over his desk, blocking his exit.

_Fuck._

"What do you want, bubblegum bitch?" George retorted, receiving a dismayed gaze from Clay. This victory of off-handedness was short-lived, as he slowly smiled.

Clay leaned in further, now inches apart. "I'm gonna be _your_ bubblegum bitch," he purred, instantly repealing his presence and steadily walking out the lecture hall.

George sat, unable to move. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._


	2. Twin Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George tells his trusted friends about the sickly feelings he's experiencing.

George hurried into Five Guys, breathing a sigh of relief as he sees his friends waiting for him.

"Finally, man! Took you forever," complained Wilbur. George muffled an apology and sat down, stealing a cajun fry from his friend.

His best friend, actually. He'd known Wilbur since primary school, and ever since they've been attached at the hip. Well, at least metaphorically. Wilbur is a mild eight inches taller than George, his stance lanky yet bursting with charisma and comfortability. He caught George's eye, even back then with his immense growth spurt compared to the rest of the boys; here they are now, bickering about coding changes for a project they're working on.

"I think if we just arrange some of the abilities it would be more a fair game," George reasoned, but Wilbur was not in a mind to concur.

"Nope, I think you just need to get better," he laughed, receiving a blow to his arm.

"Wilbur, why are you such a douche?" Tommy asked, as blunt as he ordinarily is.

Minx laughed out loud, meanwhile, Wilbur rolled his eyes. George chuckled, though stifling his anxiousness was not his forte. Minx furrowed her brows, looking at the dazed boy.

"George? You alright?" George snapped out of his trance-seems a common occurrence lately-and faces her with a faltered smile. He appreciated she cared.

"Yes?" He didn't even believe himself. Sighing, George continued, "No-I don't know, really. Recently Clay's really been bothering me."

Tommy stood up hastily. "That bitch! We will get him, Georgiepoo! Don't worry! Big man on the rescue-"

"Tommy, would you kindly shut the fuck up?" Wilbur politely asked, reaching a hand out to lower the boy in his seat. Tommy scowled.

George shrugged his shoulders, unsure if his friends would understand his issue. It's not like Clay hasn't messed with him before. It's a daily occurrence. As long as they have class, and especially if it's a Tuesday, George always finds himself stuck to Clay. A fly, really; he's tried to bat him away yet he always buzzes with a muse, returning for more agony.

But today felt weird. A certain type of weird, unable to be explained by even George, so how would his friends understand?

"George, hun, it's okay," Minx coaxed, though her intentions were flooded by George's reminder of the nickname. It made him feel gross. Sticky. Unclean, and he didn't enjoy it.

"Yeah, we can give him a real ass-whooping if-"

"No, it's fine, thanks Tommy," George cut him off. He felt his tongue start to swell. "I just...it's different. Today was different. Like, don't get me wrong, I hate him," he ensured, causing Wilbur's ears to perk. "But...I don't know. He was overly flirtatious, at least I think that's what that was-"

"No way!" Tommy exclaimed, a wild grin spread amongst his face. "No fucking way! Dude, Clay was flirting with you? Like actually this time? Oh my god!" He couldn't stifle a laugh to save his life.

Wilbur frowned, turning to George and grabbing his hand. George's face flushed. "Gogy, I'm sorry he's messing with you. He just knows your weaknesses."

George shrugged once again, squeezing Wilbur's hand and then letting go.

He really didn't prefer contact. With Wilbur, it was a little different. He'd known him for so long, a fondness has bloomed. Even if it's small moments, with Wilbur, he can stand it. Rather, he likes it.

He grabbed another cajun fry out of anticipation, hoping someone would speak out so he didn't have to.

Thankfully, that's what Tommy does all the time.

"Yeah, ya' know, maybe he does actually like you though!" Tommy entertained, wiggling his eyebrows. Wilbur's expression darkened and Minx shook her head.

"What? Guys, it's not that bad of an idea," Tommy pleaded, "I mean, imagine George, the underdog!" He raised his hands comically as if presenting something. "Swooped away by his long-lasting nemesis! Wouldn't that be sick?" He smiled brightly, though the rest of the group didn't match his expression.

George broke the silence this time, "I just wish I knew why he does what he does. It's so annoying, makes me want to fall off the face of Earth." He let his head fall into his hands as he rubbed his eyes. Minx frowns, tapping his shoulder once, lightly.

"I'm sure with time he'll stop his antics, or he'll be upfront about what he's doing. This has been going on for a while," she sighs, feeling sympathy. 

George has had talks with Minx he thinks aren't appropriate for Wilbur or Tommy. Not like he doesn't trust them, but doesn't think they will necessarily understand as well as she would.

He's told her about the mix of feelings he gets with Clay. Yes, he hates him. Desperately. But for some reason...that hatred sparks more interest. More of a flare for George to be seduced by, wanting to find out more. _It's complicated_ , he'd tell Minx after a long rant. She had a sullen look on her face and nodded with comprehension.

"Maybe," George says quietly. 

"Well, on a good note," Tommy starts, making the group sulk further, "Maybe we should all have a sleepover tonight!" He said with pride and then retreated timidly. "I-I mean, not a sleepover, a hangout-sesh thing! Yeah!" The confidence skyrocketed back.

Tommy was a year younger than the rest of them, being a freshman. He's always been insecure because of his unchangeable fate, despite his friends deeply not caring whatsoever.

"That actually sounds like a good idea," Wilbur smiles, focused on George. "What do you think, Gogy?" His eyes sparkled when George looked back at him.

Wilbur really was a beautiful man. George could appreciate attraction. For a while, he thought he liked him. Since then, and countless talks with Minx, he's settled that their relationship is platonic, yet further than intimate. _Twin flames_ , Minx once introduced. George liked the sound of it.

"Yeah, I think that'll be nice," he said shortly, giving an honest smile towards Wilbur. 

"Then it's settled!" Tommy cries in victory, standing up sharply. He swiftly grabs everyone's trash and throws it out, wrapping himself in his jacket. "Onward, lads and lasses! To Wilbur's!"

Wilbur scoffed, "Why's it at my house again?"

"Because you have a big TV, and a huge bean bag," Tommy said flatly, almost dumbfounded. Wilbur sighed but reluctantly agreed. 

George departed from his friends and got in his car, thankful for the short period alone.

What was going on? Why does it feel like the Redness is eating him up inside? All he can think about is Clay, about how he hates him, how his stupid chomping haunts his memories-

He needs to stop.

George turned the key in the ignition, feeling his car rumble to a start.

__________

George stepped onto the delicate porch decorated with different colored pumpkins, tis' the season. Wilbur's house was infatuating, the architecture was unlike anything around their area. It was small, being close to campus, but beautiful nonetheless; Wilbur always had a good sense in décor, anyway.

He knocked lightly and then opened the door, greeted by Wilbur's small cat. "Hi, cutie," George hummed, reaching down to pet the fragile animal. It purred against his touch.

George smiled, shutting the door behind him as Wilbur walked out of his kitchen.

"George! My favorite!" Wilbur smiled ear-to-ear, embracing his friend in a hug. George let himself sink into it, breathing in Wilbur's scent. Pine and strawberries.

"The rest aren't here yet?" George questioned, pulling away from Wilbur. He shook his head, gesturing to the silence.

He's right, if Tommy were here, George would've known by a mile away.

"I made some tea, if you'd like?" George smiled in response, following Wilbur to his compact kitchen.

It always felt like home, here. More than at George's own apartment. It was a comfortable atmosphere, everything tidy and minimalistic. George took a seat at the table, reaching for a cup as Wilbur fills it with scolding water. The tea bag sinks, the color beginning to bleed. George smiled.

"So," Wilbur started, taking his own cup and sitting down, "This whole thing with Clay? I can tell when you're off, you know," he stated, matter-of-factly. George shrugged, thoroughly enjoying the heat radiating off of his mug. Wilbur half-smiled, "Don't play dumb with me, Gogy."

George sighed, blowing the steam as it floated off the liquid. "I don't know, Will, it's just strange. I don't like how he's always in my mind."

Wilbur grew rigid at the statement, then resided in taking a sip of his still-burning tea. He swallowed painfully, "I mean, he is quite the character. He's really skillful, tactical, successful-"

George felt a tinge in his stomach as Wilbur went on. "I mean, I guess. But he's mean to me-"

"I know!" Wilbur said, worrisome lacing his words. "I know, I'm sorry, he's such a dick. I don't know George." He tapped his fingers on his glass, "I think it's best if you just forget about it."

George frowned. He's tried, so many times. But today- _Why don't you do that for me?_ \- just makes it so hard to forget. Wilbur reached his hand out, placing it on top of George's.

"It's going to be alright, just enjoy tonight," he smiled thoughtfully. Wilbur always knew how to make George fluttery, make him joyful or simply relaxed. George loved him for it.

Before they could continue their intimate moment, Tommy bursts through Wilbur's front door, Minx short behind.

"Alright! I brought The Nightmare Before Christmas and The Human Centipede! What are we watchin', boys?" With intense energy, he raced into the kitchen and threw the DVDs onto Wilbur's table. Minx audibly sighed.

"What a selection," George giggled, looking at how purely happy Tommy was in this moment. "I say Nightmare."

Tommy's expression dropped as he muttered, "Pussy," under his breath.

__________

"Jesus fuck!" Tommy screamed, shielding his eyes from the horrific scene. "This is disgusting!"

Minx giggled, grabbing ahold of Tommy's hand and ripping it away to make him watch. 

George sat in silence on the sofa, Wilbur with an arm around him. Occasionally, if the scenes were especially gruesome, George would hide his face in Wilbur's shoulder.

"This is why I voted otherwise," George said, shaking his head in disapproval. He felt a buzz come from Wilbur's pocket.

Wilbur pulled out his phone, smiling at the message notification. George ooo'd, trying to peak at the messages.

"Wilby has a secret admirer!" Tommy exclaimed, his full attention now on his friend. Wilbur shook his head promptly, yet his smile didn't fade.

"Shut up," he started, turning off his phone after replying, "It's just Nick. We are making plans." George felt an immediate ping of hurt in his chest. He slid away from Wilbur.

Nick went to their university. George didn't know him well, except for what Wilbur has told him. Arguably, the most important thing about Nick was his relations with Clay.

They were best friends. George was familiar with the people Clay hung out with, mostly. He'd regularly see Nick and Techno (a nickname, George supposes, but he's never learned his real name).

George looked at the way Wilbur smiled still, simply at messages with Nick. It made him sick.

Tommy shut off the TV. "I can't do this anymore. I'm a big man, trust me, but this is absolutely mad," he reasoned, causing Minx to smile. Wilbur stood up, stretching.

"It is getting late, and I have a lab tomorrow," he mentioned. George frowned further, still lost in his thoughts.

"We still on for coffee at ten?" Minx suggested, Tommy nodding ferociously. 

"Yes! I need it before my aerospace test!" He complained.

George drowned out the rest of the conversation further. As his friends left, he sat in the same space, thinking. Wilbur shut the door behind the other two, walking back to George and taking a seat next to him.

"You alright, Gogy?" Wilbur said, taking ahold of George's hand. George lifted his head, making eye contact. 

"It's Nick, isn't it?" He sighed, squeezing George's hand lightly. "I know it's weird but I swear, we just met within chemistry, we were lab partners and he's actually really cool-"

George cut him off by clutching his hand further. "It's okay, Will. It's just strange, is all," Wilbur nodded in agreement.

"Are you...close? Do you talk to Clay?"

Wilbur shook his head promptly. "No, not really at all. It's alright, I promise."

George felt the redness dissipate. He smiled. "Alright, I'm sorry for being so sensitive sometimes."

"Don't apologize, he messes with you so much, you have a reason," Wilbur smiled back, pressing his hand against George's once more before letting go. "Alright, Gogy, let me study for this lab."

"Fine," George huffed, though his smile reigned. He stood up, receiving a quick hug from his friend before the door shuts behind him. 

Walking to his car, his smile falters. 

What was the meaning behind all of this? Why was the redness deepening when Wilbur was talking to Nick? Why is Clay such a fucking _pest_ _?_ Why can't he just leave him alone?

So many questions, yet George was exhausted and just wanted to get home. He felt his car growl as it started.

He contemplated, looking at his seatbelt. After a sigh, he strapped in and geared his car in drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soz for the lack of Clay but I want this to be a slowwww burn. I have a lot of plans for this book and I'm really excited hehe.


	3. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George receives a strange call while catching up with his friends.

The bright light peaked through George's curtains, illuminating his pale and clear skin. Slowly waking up, he blinked his eyes and knit his brows. Leaning over to grab his charged phone, he saw the time: 8 am.

_Too early_ _,_ George groaned and threw his covers off of him. He lay still for a moment more, opening messages in his phone to text Minx.

_gogy: i had the dream again_

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, standing up as he shuts off his phone. He looks in his standing mirror, sighing.

He wasn't necessarily insecure. He just hated himself sometimes. The way his posture was slightly bent, due to the countless nights peering over his computer working on a coding project. The way his hair never cooperated, even after a shower. The way he didn't naturally smell of earthly scents like Wilbur does. The way he doesn't have a contagious and gleaming smile like Tommy. The way he wasn't effortlessly beautiful, unlike Minx.

The way he wasn't intriguing or mystifying, like Clay.

He upset himself with his last thought. This was getting out of hand.

Shaking his head, he resolved to take a shower. He turned on the water, waiting a few moments for it to get hot before he stepped in. The water was scolding. He loved it.

Winter wasn't his favorite, and it was approaching quickly. The snow wasn't his forte, neither was chilly weather. He had learned at a young age to truly cherish the feel of the blazing droplets down his scalp, back, legs. His skin turned red.

He took his time washing, enjoying the heat until it began to bitter. He's been in for too long.

George shut off the water and stepped out, drying himself off quickly and avoiding the mirror as much as possible.

Once he stepped back into his room, before dressing, he picked up his phone to see a response from Minx.

_minx <3: the one with him?_

George sighed.

_gogy: yeah._

He set his phone down, quickly getting dressed as the autumn air swiveled and surrounded him.

George was thankful he didn't have class today. He needed to catch up on some other work from his computer science class, at least that's what he told himself was the reason he was relieved.

He couldn't even fool himself.

His phone buzzed, George promptly picking it up.

_minx <3: george...i'm sorry. maybe it's best you ignore him, like really ignore him._

_gogy: i've tried. there's just, idk_

_minx <3: i know. i'm here for you_

_gogy: <3_

George shut off his phone, sliding it into his sweatpants' pocket. 

He hated the way he felt. The confusion and inability to let go ate him up from the inside. It's not always been like this.

There was a point he truly, fully disliked Clay. They met in calculus earlier that year, Clay made it obvious George was going to be his new interest. It started with kicking his chair, dropping his pencil and asking George to pick it up, brushing his shoulder as they walked out.

It escalated, as Clay would find his target in the hallways, even on days they didn't have class together. Mindless chatter and flirting induced consistently. George was very annoyed at first. He didn't like the attention given to him, he wished Clay would transfer and leave forever.

But then, it changed.

He doesn't know when. George knew something was different when he felt his heart twinge in anticipation for calculus. When he silently hoped that he'd hear loud chewing down the corridors on days barring Tuesday. 

Maybe it was Clay filling his life with excitement, something to await. George hasn't had a exhilerating life, and something about Clay flushed his body with electricity: a feeling he wanted more of.

George sighed, returning from his thoughts. Walking down his short hallway, he arrived in the kitchen and opened the fridge.

He pulled out an apple. He didn't have an appetite right now, or even recently, though he knew himself well, and he didn't want to be cranky for his friends if he were hungry. He took a harsh bite after rinsing.

__________

Minx smiled, sipping her coffee delicately. Tommy was raging about his study guide for aerospace, how it was stupid and he doubted anything would be on the test. She shrugged, frowning to the boy to show sympathy.

"I'm sorry, big man. I'm sure you'll do great."

Tommy let a small smile lock onto his lips. "I have been studying," he paused, making eye contact, "with Tubbo."

Minx smiled brightly, hitting Tommy's shoulder playfully. "No way! That's so sweet!"

Tommy and Toby, nicknamed Tubbo by the other, were great friends. They met in aerospace this year, Tubbo a soft and innocent character juxtaposed against Tommy. They were a classic team, one seen in cheesy films of two best friends. 

George walked into the coffee shop, sitting next to Minx and mumbling apologies for being a tad late. Wilbur was nowhere to be seen, so he assumed he was okay.

Minx handed George the coffee she ordered him, watching as he chugged nearly a fourth immediately.

"Woah, thirsty?" She chuckled, lowering George's hand from his face in an attempt to slow his drinking.

George flushed. "Yeah, sorry. Just been up for too long without caffeine," he joked, giving a small smile to the two. 

"Tommy was just telling me how he was studying with Toby." George gawked, looking at Tommy who rolled his eyes.

"Oh shut up, he's a good friend is all, you two are absolutely unbelievable, you know? That's disgusting. Everything's gotta be a-"

"Hello, sorry, lab ran late," Wilbur messed with his fluffy hair, taking a spot next to Tommy. 

Tommy laughed, "Sure, you were probably just talking to Nick-"

"Shut up," Wilbur sighed, taking his coffee and blowing it lightly to cool it down.

George filled with red. Will has his own, other friends, and that's okay.

But what if they were talking? _Talking_ , talking.

What were they saying? Where did their conversation lead to? Did Wilbur enjoy talking to Nick?

Did he like him?

_Oh god_ , George didn't want to imagine the possibilities of his best friend liking the best friend of his enemy. It's like Romeo and Juliet, kind of. He hated it.

Wilbur placed his hand on George's, locking their eyes. "Gogy? You alright? Seem lost in your thoughts," he spoke softly, giving George's hand a squeeze.

"Oh, yeah, I'm alright, just thinking about my calculus test coming up," he lied straight through his teeth, praying Will would believe him. 

What else was he supposed to say? _Oh yeah, I'm doing pretty shit, just thinking about how you like someone who is best friends with my tormentor._

Wilbur frowned lightly, retracting his hand and taking a sip. "Alright, well good luck. Is it next week?"

George nodded. Tommy clutched his coffee as he looked at his watch.

"Oh god, T-minus thirty minutes until the test. I might fail, I'm going to fail, I-"

"Tommy!" Minx punched him in the shoulder, causing him to rub his gently.

"Ouch," he said quietly, frowning. 

"You're going to do well," Minx sighed.

George felt a vibration in his pocket. He pulled out his phone to see a number he didn't recognize calling him. 

He furrowed his brows and pressed the decline button, setting it down at the table. Probably an ad, or something, he concluded.

As the conversation ran short, George looked out the window. He looked past his transparent reflection into the autumn breeze, sweeping leaves across the streets. He wished he could see all the colors.

His friends tried to explain it to him, before. _It's like a monochrome pallet of warm colors_ , Wilbur had tried once before. George only half-understood what he was saying, but he appreciated the effort anyway. He thinks autumn would be more beautiful if he could see it.

Minx sniffled, wiping her nose. "God, it's so chilly out. I feel like I'm getting a fever by just sitting," she whined, taking another long sip of her coffee and enjoying the heat on her tongue.

George chuckled to fill the silent air, his mind absent.

__________

Setting his keys on the table, George exhaled warmly. He was glad to be in the warmness of his own home.

He stepped to his computer, sitting down and turning on the monitor. He had a project due that night and he decided getting started now would be best. Though, as he clicked on the assignment, his phone began to ring.

George picked it out from his pocket, staring at the unfamiliar number. It was the same one as before.

He's smart, he knows to be careful, but the number had the same area code as him, and if they were ringing him again, it couldn't be a mistake.

George sighed, answering.

"Hello?" He asked, his voice laced with confusion.

"Georgie! You answered!" George froze.

_No fucking way_.

"Clay?"

He could hear the smile in his words, "Hi, cutie."

George grew flustered and annoyed, his confusion growing. "How did you get my number? Why are you calling me?"

Clay giggled on the other side. "Nick gave it to me. He's been talking to your buddy-Wilbur, is it?"

George wondered how Clay still sounded his cocky self over the receiver. "Yeah-um, yes, Wilbur," he paused, trying to fight his rising temperature.

So Nick and Wilbur were talking. That only can explain why he gave him George's number. George's lips folded into a deep frown.

"You didn't answer my second question," he said, growing awareness of the silence.

"I called you," Clay spoke slowly as if he knew how much this pained George, "because I wanted to hear your pretty voice."

Red swept into George's veins. His heartbeat increased as he stumbled, trying to find a response. "I-um, I don't-"

"Aww, Georgie, you sound so cute when you're flustered," Clay teased, his smile undoubtedly taking up half his face at this point. George cursed silently to himself for being a stuttered mess.

"I just, I don't know why you do this," George finally resolved to speak, but immediately cringed afterwards. Clay laughed, resembling a tea kettle. George hasn't heard that before.

It made him smile, lightly.

"Maybe," Clay cooed, "it's because I like you."

_No._

George didn't really want to believe it. He knew it, this whole time, it's extremely obvious.

He didn't want it to be true.

"Just maybe, though. Don't get any ideas," Clay said softly, his egotistical demeanor making a return. George took a deep breath.

"I hate you," is all he could muster.

The redness was eating him up. He felt his organs begin to dissipate, the acid in his stomach rise up his esophagus, he was overly aware of the blood pumping through his veins. 

Clay laughed.

"Oh, come on, now," his voice lowered. "We both know I'm the boy you'd die for."

George's breath hitched, his heart twisting at Clay's voice. He felt himself have to breathe manually.

He pulled the phone from his ear and hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u are enjoying this pls give feedback thanks


	4. Cellphone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the red disease begins to grow within George, appearing more often, he makes a call.

Dumbfounded and utterly lost. George sat in his chair for minutes, staring straight ahead at his computer login screen. He couldn't bring himself to type anything.

This whole situation was weird. This isn't something George has experienced before; the immensely complex feelings he's having, both good and bad (though, arguably all bad), about someone he despises.

He sat in his thoughts for a few moments more, sighing as he picked up his phone. He found his contact, pressing the call button.

It didn't have to finish its first ring.

"Gogy?" Wilbur's sweet voice was relaxing, immediate asylum from the tension George had built up within himself.

"Hi, Will," he said softly, wondering how to start his conversation.

"Is something wrong?" George could hear Wilbur's frown. "You sound upset."

George ran a hand through his messy hair, sighing. "It's Clay."

The tension returned. Wilbur sat in silence for a moment.

George frowned, "You gave Nick my number?"

"I'm sorry, George, he asked, I thought maybe he was into you and I know you've been wanting to get your mind off of Clay-"

"It's fine."

It wasn't.

George's mind was muddled with questions. Was Wilbur trying to set up him and Nick? Didn't Wilbur like Nick himself? Why would he think setting George up with Clay's best friend would do any good?

He scoffed, unsure of what to think anymore. "Clay called me."

"What?" Wilbur sounded upset, almost betrayed. "Why? What did he say?" He grew impatient of George's pauses.

George fumbled his phone within his fingers. "He-um, said he wanted to hear my voice," he hesitated, feeling a smile pick at the corners of his mouth.

It warmed him, redness returning into his bloodstream. 

Wilbur suddenly laughed, setting George's face back into a state of dejection.

"You don't believe him, right?" Will continued, "He's just messing with you, George. He's fucked."

George's heart turned, a feeling of pain boiling deep within him.

For some reason, he wanted to believe what Clay had told him. It was such an intimate moment, it couldn't have been a joke, right?

Wilbur's continuous giggles shook that denial from George. "I'm sorry, Gogy, but he's taking a piss, I swear," he returned George to reality.

"I guess," George said, his disappointment easily distinguished. Wilbur stopped laughing.

"I really am sorry, George, that's messed up," his sentimental tone returned, but George still felt weird.

_Why the fuck was he laughing?_

"It's alright, I guess. I've got to get a start on my code," George lied, wanting the conversation to end. Wilbur wished him goodbye, hanging up promptly.

George hated the way he felt. How Wilbur responded with his situation, how his pity excuse of an apology was thought to be enough.

How he wanted Clay's words to reign truth.

What was going on?

George shut off his monitor, his thoughts too full to continue with any work. He stood up wearily, grabbing his phone and walking to his bedroom.

He flopped down, head full of mess and inquiries that would never be answered, he assumed.

He passed out, phone in hand.

__________

George woke up to his phone buzzing ominously. Sighing, he checked his time, feeling some deja vu from earlier this morning.

His virtual clock read five P.M.. He sighed.

His eyes trailed down to the messages that woke him up, sent by an unknown number. Though, it was familiar to him.

Dazed with exhaustion, George unlocked his phone and read the texts.

_Unknown Number: didn't mean to scare you too much, cutie._

_Unknown Number: nick told me wilbur gave him your number to set you guys up. hate to break it to ya, georgie, i'm the one for you._

_Unknown Number: ready for your classes tomorrow, big boy? can't wait to make an appearance_

_Unknown Number: i really hope you have my number saved, otherwise texts from a random number might seem weird_

That was the end, the text that woke him up. Clay knew too much. George sighed, ignoring the feeling that arose within his stomach while reading the messages. He clicked the number, creating a new contact and naming it a simple "clay". 

George contemplated responding. He reread the messages often, studying each word and its potential meaning.

_What the fuck_ , George cursed to himself. He was acting like a child. _Just respond to him_.

_george: ur fine_

He was unsure of what to say, other than that. This all just felt so foreign to him.

George went weeks on end without being affected by Clay's attitude, despite the occasional anger or annoyance. He never cared to see him, if anything, he'd prefer not to. He'd do everything to stay away from him.

George hated how he's changed.

Clay responded immediately.

_clay: aw, hi! didn't think you'd respond._

_george: trust me, i didn't want to._

George shut off his phone, rubbing his tired eyes until he saw swirls of light.

He wondered how he got himself into this mess, and why he couldn't get out of it. Why Clay felt like a magnet, stronger than the force of Earth's gravity, pulling George towards him. George was unable to be ridden of Clay's grasp of power.

His phone buzzed.

_clay: sure, georgie._

_clay: i know you think about me_

_clay: a lot_

The grasp held George tighter.

_george: keep flattering yourself_

He rolled his eyes. He wanted to not respond, to throw his phone out the window and watch it smash into a billion shards. 

Instead, he finds himself gripping it with white knuckles, his eyes struck on their conversation, impatiently awaiting the next response.

_clay: you flatter me enough_

_clay: responding fast, are we? why don't we just call_

George's breath hitched as he felt his brain start to itch. 

His mind working in gears, he didn't have time to form an excuse before his phone begin buzzing. Sighing, George answered.

"Yes, Clay?" George put the phone on speaker, setting it down on his chest as he put his hands in his face. His skin grew warm and red at the contact.

"You always sound so uninterested, it's funny," Clay said, George recognizing his smile throughout his words. "You can admit you love me, it's fine. No judgement zone."

Clay chuckled and George pressed his hands further into his face, his fingers almost clawing his eye sockets as swirls of color began forming. He didn't have the mental capacity to deal with Clay at school, this is only worse. Home isn't his comfort anymore, not away from Clay.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," George sighed, listening as Clay smacks on his bubblegum. 

"Jeez, you really like that gum, huh?" He rolled his eyes, his annoyance growing within his stomach. No matter what his feelings about Clay are evolving into, he would always absolutely hate that smack and pop of bubblegum.

Clay wheezed, and George cringed as red began to filter through his bloodstream. "Yeah, I do. Keeps my breath nice. Perfect for kisses," Clay cooed, his lips blowing a kiss through the phone.

George gagged and dodged it, as if the action could be transferred through the cellphone. "Disgusting," he retorted. Clay only giggled.

"You know you want it, George. I'm irresistible."

George stayed silent, rolling his eyes in response as if Clay could see.

George didn't want a kiss from Clay, certainly. But what he could agree on- though, he'd never admit aloud- was the second statement.

_I'm irresistible_. 

In a way, that was right. Not the way Clay intended it, for sure. Though George did find himself thinking of Clay often, thinking about his antics, wondering if there was anything he could do in retaliation, questioning if he even wanted to retaliate or just leave it be. Maybe that would make it go away.

Did he want that?

"Thinking, huh? Wish you had me smooching all over you instead of my phone," Clay joked, causing George to return his attention back to the phone.

He pulled a disgusted look, "Ew, absolutely not," his British voice rang through the call. "Can I go now? I'm busy," he lied, wanting this stupid interaction to end before he had to use anymore brain power.

Clay hummed, his tone pouting. "Aw, Georgie! Playing hard to get doesn't suit you." He laughed, George's lungs filling with redness. He took a breath to respond but couldn't. "Fine, see you tomorrow," Clay gave in, leaning closer to the microphone, "I'm going to be thinking about you."

He hung up. George didn't touch his phone, rather allowed it to sit on his chest as he tried to regulate his breathing. Eventually, the plagued red pneumonia swept through him and he returned to a slow rise and fall.

"What the fuck," he whispered to himself, scratching the back of his head intently as he was processing his emotions.

Why is Clay the way he is? Why couldn't he just leave George alone?

These thoughts rummaged through his brain, yet George found himself questioning the same rebuttal as before. 

_Do I want that?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again for reading!  
> just a heads up, if this were to get popular, please do not mention this fic to any of the cc's. i don't want them involved, unless they were to find it themselves. thank you!


	5. Infected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George accidentally agrees to something he might regret, and comes to a realization.

To be plain, George didn't want to wake up for class next morning.

He generally enjoyed Thursday's. He had computer science; even though he wasn't aware of anyone in his class, it was his most beloved course. He didn't mind being alone, yet the way he can't discuss his favorite topic with peers around him bugged George relentlessly.

Today, he declared, was going to be different. A bad different, he made sure to engrave in his definition.

George was free of Clay on Thursday's, for the most part. Clay had class directly after him, so sometimes he'd catch him wondering around the halls, early to presumably torture George. But that was only occasionally, and George never expected it often.

This time, Clay warned him of his appearance. George didn't know if that was good or bad.

With tired eyes, George brushed his teeth as he stared at his reflection.

_Disgusting._

George envied Clay for that reason: he was so confident, he held his head high, always self-assured. George wanted to be like that, though he'd never have the self-appreciation needed.

Packing his laptop, notebook and flash drive, George grabbed his keys and headed out to his car.

His mind couldn't falter from Clay. It wouldn't allow him a second of peace.

His words always struck George with such blatant surprise, like he should have seen it coming, yet never does. And the redness: there was so much, filling his blood and lungs, suffocating the poor man with unwanted emotion and fuzziness. He didn't grasp the idea of it, nor why it was happening constantly.

The drive to university was like it always was; short and silent. Though, George's brain continuously buzzed with thoughts of his tormentor.

He stepped into his computer science class early, sitting down at one of the desktop computers as he pulled out his laptop.

He eventually got around to finishing his code the night before, though considering how fuzzy his mind has been lately, he knew it wasn't his best work.

George plugged in his flash drive as a text box popped up, a preview of the website as well as his code.

Looking over it steadily, he sighed, beginning to tweak his work.

His mind never let go of Clay.

__________

He felt confident in his project.

A few of George's classmates presented what they had finished, and he agreed to himself that his work was far more distinguished and impressive. He was proud.

If he can't be confident in his looks, might as well make up for it with talent.

The pride slowly seeped through his skin as he exited his classroom, ready to go home.

Time seemed to pause for a moment as he bumped into a large figure. George muffled apologies, his eyes raising to meet the person.

_Of fucking course._

Clay laughed, "Eager to see me, huh?" He teased, reaching out and ruffling George's hair.

The man retaliated quickly, smacking Clay's hand from his head and desperately trying to fix his hair. "Don't touch me."

Clay frowned. "Aw, did I mess up your hair? Poor baby," he purred. 

Just like that, redness bled throughout his body. For the first time, it was shown apparent, dark splodges staining his cheekbones.

George scoffed, "Whatever. Don't you have a class to be at?" Clay smiled, following after George as he began to walk away. He met up to his side, their feet now in step.

"Not for another ten minutes. I'm all your's." George shuddered visibly, causing Clay to laugh lightly.

It was silent for a moment. The air was permeated with heavy, awkward tension.

"What class was that?" Clay broke the silence, sounding interested.

George thought about not responding.

"Computer science," he said plainly, his eyes strictly forward. As they approached the exit, Clay swiftly reached out to hold open the door for George.

George didn't thank him.

"Oh, that's actually pretty cool," Clay sounded surprised.

George didn't know whether to take that as a compliment or not. Was he expecting the other man to be taking boring lectures?

"I'm into that junk, you know," Clay continued. George's ears perked slightly, though he didn't let it show. "I take a few coding classes online."

"Why are you making conversation with me?" George snapped, looking at Clay for the first time since he bumped into him. The blush was still aligned on George's appearance as Clay looked over.

"What do you mean?" He questioned. His tone was different. George noted how his guard seemed let down, his ego taking a short break to let hurt reign.

"'Dunno, s'just weird," George said, now almost whispering. He focused his attention back onto the trees ahead of him as he was reaching his car.

Clay frowned lightly, though his moment of emotion was short-lived as he cooed, "I know you like talking to me."

They reached George's car, stopping their tracks. If the moment couldn't be any worse, Clay reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of bubblegum. Quickly undoing the wrapper and sticking it in his pocket, he pops the candy into his mouth.

_Smack, smack, smack_.

That's what George wanted to do to Clay right about now.

"It's getting late, you should go to class," George tried his very best to find a way out of this conversation. He felt uncomfortable, like he wasn't supposed to be talking to Clay.

Clay shrugged, checking the watch on his wrist. "Maybe. I'd rather stay with you," he smiled, placing his fingers delicately on George's chin as he lifted their gazes together.

Red. Everywhere.

George couldn't think of anything to say. His face was filled with that wretched feeling, his lungs beginning to drown in his common disease. 

Clay's smile grew knowingly. "You don't have class tomorrow, yeah?" He questioned, though he knew the answer. He ran his padded thumb along George's jawline and lips.

George simply nodded. He couldn't speak. His skin burned where Clay touched it.

"Good," he almost whispered, now, leaning in closer to George. Their faces were mere inches apart. "How about we go on a date?"

George nearly choked on air.

"Why...would I want to do that?" He asked, though his tone was unsteady and questioning rather than snarky. Clay only smirked more.

He pressed his thumb lightly on George's lip, watching as the skin went pale. George's mouth was agape, hardly believing what he was seeing or feeling.

"Meet me at my apartment, any time you want. I'll take us out." George stayed silent. He watched Clay's jaw clench and release as he chewed. "Does that sound good, George?"

Looking up into his sharp eyes, George nodded his head slowly.

His entire body was plagued by redness.

Clay licked his lips, smiled, and pulled his hand from George's face. As if it was the only thing holding him up, George's head dropped with the weight of gravity, his eyes now on Clay's chest.

"Perfect, I'll see you then." And he walked away.

George stood for awhile, his thoughts almost put on halt.

_What the fuck just happened?_

__________

Shutting his door, George flopped onto his bed. The blush from before was snaked on his complexion, still.

He was at a loss of what to do.

Part of him wanted to talk to Wilbur about it. Considering his response to George's last problem, he didn't know if his friend really wanted to hear about it anymore.

George wondered what went wrong with his chat. Will's always been an extremely understanding lad, George has consulted in him for years without fail.

What was different? Well, surely a lot of things.

George pulled out his phone and pressed on Minx's contact.

"Hello?" She answered in a sweet tone. She hadn't heard from George since his morning text yesterday.

"Hi, Minx," George paused, taking a deep breath. It felt good to be able to breathe. The redness had dissipated, allowing his lungs to freely expand and contrast.

"George! Are you alright, love? It's been a little," her voice trailed off.

"I'm okay. I just...there's a lot, to like, catch up on, I guess," he fumbled with his words.

George didn't want to seem stupid for obsessing over this.

After all, it was getting out of hand. For weeks now, George has had a reoccurring dream about Clay. 

_Flattening the soft blades of grass, I shift my position to look up into his dazed eyes. They shine so bright when they aren't half-lidded within a knowing smirk. He softly touches my jaw, running his padded fingers along the skin._

_"You're so beautiful, George," he praises, breathless. A smile blooms, my face lightening as my heart follows. This is real, I have convinced myself, it's real._

_His touch is lost, and my heart aches when I see him stand up. "Do you have to go?" I whisper, almost as if any sound could shatter this fragile moment._

_Without another word, he's gone. And I fall asleep._

"George," Minx says, sighing as she notices her friend's distant behavior. "Is it about him?"

George returns to reality, his eyes now fixated on the corner of his room where his ceiling and walls meet.

"Yes. He," George hesitates. He wants to tell Minx everything, wants to gush, but it doesn't feel appropriate. It's not right. Sighing, he continues, "I think we are-um, going on a date. Tomorrow."

Minx hums in response. George assumes she wants to flare with happiness, boast about how excited she is for him and how good this can be. But George didn't know how to feel about it, if it were really something good or not. Minx was aware, so she kept quiet, treading on thin ice.

"I'm going to his house, and then I think he wants to take me out. Part of me is excited," George furrows his eyebrows, "no, not excited, just-antsy? Wanting it to be over?" 

_Or do I want it to start?_

"It's okay to be confused, George," her Irish accent rings through the cellphone. George loved when she said his name, it sounded like lace. "He's been confusing lately, and you might have some blooming feelings. Not to be too bold, or to assume anything, but that's what it seems like," she finished.

George pondered the idea. It's not as if it hasn't been crossing his mind the past week; with all of Clay's flirtatious looks, touches, words...how could he not feel some sort of tinge to want more?

He sighed, rubbing his eyes lightly. "I'm sorry, Georgie," he could hear Minx's frown through her words.

"It's fine, I guess. Maybe I should just see how tomorrow goes," he proposes, to which Minx responds with sounds of agreement.

"Thanks, Minx. For helping out, you're always there."

"Of course, George."

His mind wonders back to his best friend. He was still utterly confused as to why Wilbur was so strange lately. Talking to Nick so frequently, yet trying to set George up with him. Acting out-of-the-ordinary when George would consult in him, going as far to laugh at his problems.

Maybe he was going through something. Maybe he didn't like the attention Clay was giving George, and wished it was himself flirting with his best friend.

George thought about Wilbur liking him. It didn't sound bad. They knew everything about each other, he was comfortable with him, it sort of made sense.

Maybe that's it.

"Has Will mentioned anything about me, recently?" He asked smoothly, breaking the periodical silence.

Minx took a moment to think. "I mean, not necessarily any more than he normally does. That boy really cares for you, George, I can tell you that."

George's mind was settled. Wilbur certainly liked him, and he doesn't know how he didn't pick up on it before. He thanked Minx quietly, mumbling about having to go. He hung up without a goodbye, and promptly texted her another thankful note.

Should he ask Wilbur? Would that be awkward? What if he was wrong?

George had far too much on his plate. He had to focus on one thing at a time, or he'd internally combust. First, he decided, would be his date tomorrow with Clay.

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, George thought.

_Why, me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave feedback! thank you guys<3  
> i love all of u


	6. Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George goes on a date and it ends unexpectantly.

There was an hour before George was expected at Clay's doorstep.

To put it simply, George was freaking the fuck out.

He didn't know what to expect from this encounter, besides a short text sent from Clay a few hours ago: 

_clay: dress up, look good for me_

This, of course, did not settle any worries rotting in the pit of George's stomach. If anything, it confused him more. In a desperate attempt to find solidarity, George called Minx.

"Listen, a light blue button-up and some black dress pants would do just fine. He clearly wants you to dress up because you're going somewhere nice-"

"Minx," George interjected, running his hands through his hair feverishly, "we are college students. I'm sure as hell broke, and I wouldn't be surprised if he is, too." 

He rummaged through the pile of clothes scattered across his floor. "We're probably going to, like, McDonald's or something," George finished. Despite his doubts, George pulled out a wrinkly button-up.

It took a few minutes of searching- which, to George, felt like a lifetime- but he finally found an old pair of dress pants. 

Minx stayed quiet as George shuffled about, pulling the clothes onto his body with a rush of adrenaline.

He didn't understand the response his body was giving him right now. Why was this so stressful?

_Look good for me_.

Clay's voice rang through George's head.

His shook his mind free, fumbling with his phone to turn on the camera feature. He propped it up, his outfit in view.

Minx clapped, "Yes! George, you look wonderful!" She watched as George laughed a little, some tension seemingly dissipating for a moment. "Oh," she added, cringing slightly, "Please iron that shirt, Gogy."

George only laughed, pressing his hands against the wrinkles as if they would flatten them. "I don't even think I own an iron."

Low and behold, he did. After thirty minutes and countless close burn calls, the shirt was good enough. George ended his call with Minx shortly after, breathing in a shakily.

If everything was okay before, things definitely aren't now. The reality is starting to set in, George's hands feeling clammy despite the cool weather. 

For the first time in what feels like forever, George stops in front of his mirror.

_Dear god_.

His hair was so fluffy, messy. It was disgusting. He showered earlier that day, not wanting to smell like shit, naturally. Though, he hated how his hair dried without product or an appliance. 

He pressed down on it, similarly how he tried to fix his shirt, though to no avail. His attention diverted to his eyes, the dreadful bags weighing him down. He looked like he hadn't slept in a year, maybe two. Not to mention his incredibly pale- too pale- complexion.

George had enough. He sighed, walking away from his reflection.

Maybe he shouldn't go. Would it be okay to stand Clay up? Definitely not. George isn't that mean.

Without further thought, George grabbed his keys and walked out his front door. 

Clicking on the address Clay sent earlier, George started his car. He could hardly believe he was going through with this.

Clay lived close. Scarily close. He didn't even need to drive.

After two right turns and one left, George slowed down as he approached Clay's apartment complex. 

It was extremely nice, George could admit. 

He parked, taking one last deep breath before taking the key out of the ignition and stepping into the brisk air. It nipped at his ears, slowly turning red.

This is when he realized,

_I'm going on a date with Clay. With fucking Clay._

His hands immediately washed with sweat again, his nervousness apparent. He hated what this did to him.

George wiped his hands anxiously against his sides, stepping onto the small porch. 

_Just knock, dumbass_.

He did. It was only a few moments later, Clay appeared and opened the door.

He had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. George watched as his gaze traveled down and up the shorter man, not helping his overwhelming sense of-

_Fuck._

Was all George could think. 

Clay leaned against the door frame, his hand gripping the corner as he studied George.

"You listened," he hummed, admiring the man. George felt red flush through him. He was radiating warmth at this point.

Clay pressed his lips together, stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

"Are you ready, Georgie?" He questioned, holding his hand out.

George, to be frank, could not move an inch. He was entranced within Clay's gaze. And, _goddamn_ , did he look stunning.

Clay wore a black button-up with matching pants, a small chain dancing on his collarbones. He held his jacket over his shoulder with his free hand. 

Clay noticed the staring, smiling more deviously. He stepped forward, wetting his bottom lip and taking George's chin within his fingers to meet their gaze.

"I asked, are you ready?" He repeated firmly, his tone now edgy as he awaited a response. George melted within his touch.

"Uh, yeah-I, yeah. I am." 

_Fucking idiot._

Clay smirked contently, dragging his thumb across George's jawline as he pulled his hand away.

"Perfect, follow me."

George did so without hesitation.

__________

George's eyes studied the menu carefully, watching the prices with disbelief. He didn't want to select anything from these pages; nearly everything was a fortune.

Clay picked up his glass of water, taking a sip slowly. George's eyes fluttered up as he watched the other man's Adam's apple bob with each swallow.

"You like the view?" Clay chuckled, setting his glass down. George adverted his attention back to the menu.

"Everything's so expensive," he muttered, desperately wanting to change the subject. He looked back up at Clay, a small smile shown on his face. "How am I supposed to order anything without feeling guilty?"

"Aw, Georgie," Clay started, tapping his glass with his ringed fingers. His ligaments and veins were eerily visible, his hands big and strong. George flushed.

"I'm here to treat you, aren't I? Get anything that looks good," Clay assured. Despite the sickly feeling George still had, he nodded and continued studying the numerous delicacies. 

Their server walked to their table, "Do we think we are ready to order?" He asked in a polite tone, pad and pen ready. Clay smiled handsomely at him.

"I believe so, I'll start," he paused, skimming the menu as if he didn't come here often. "I'll have the twelve ounce sirloin with garlic butter, medium rare."

"And for your side?"

"Your seasonal greens, please." George sighed, the pit in his stomach beginning to feel overwhelming. Clay's meal alone was already over _one hundred dollars_. George was a college student, he knew how much debt was in store. He felt bad for putting Clay in this position. 

Though, he didn't, did he?

Why the fuck was George even here?

Recognizing his date's nervous demeanor, Clay tapped his foot lightly against George's skin. _It'll be alright_ , he seemed to say without words.

George cleared his throat, realizing the server was waiting on him. "Sorry, um," he took one last glance at the price, "I'll just-uh, I'll have a house salad with grilled chicken."

It seemed to be the least expensive, reigning a small price of forty-three dollars. 

Wasn't it just some lettuce? George didn't get it.

The server smiled wonderfully, taking the menus from the men. "Perfect, I'll get these right out for you two."

George let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. Clay chuckled lightly.

"Not a fan of fancy dining?" He asked, taking another sip from his glass. His foot was rested extremely near George's from his previous movement. George was hyper aware of the heat such a small action left in his chest.

He shrugged, "I don't like spending other people's money."

Clay's smile grew smugly. "Get used to it, sweetheart," his foot glided against George's ankle once again, this time prolonged instead of a tap. 

George didn't want to admit how alive that made him feel.

George didn't want to admit anything at this point, really. This guy he was supposed to dislike was making him feel things- _bad_ things, at that- and he couldn't get away. Even if he could, he didn't know if he would want to.

That's the problem. This weird relationship Clay and George have been pursuing is purely platonic; George assumes he's taking these actions as "signs" because he's a lonely prick. He doesn't want to own up to his feelings, even if he knows what he's experiencing deep down.

Because what would that mean, then? More insanely priced dates?

Maybe that wouldn't be too bad, George rationed.

He was too confused. He would rely on Minx, later, to tell him what he was feeling. That always seems to work out.

Their food came out around twenty minutes later, Clay immediately beginning to slice his steak as George peers at his portion. 

_This salad is ungodly massive. Forty-three dollars makes sense._

Clay smiled at him, setting his knife down and reaching over to place his hand atop George's. 

"Eat, baby. For me."

George is unsure why he felt a pressing nerve to pick up his fork, to dig into the behemoth of a salad placed in front of him. Though, Clay knew.

Slowly, George stabbed a piece of chicken and brought it to his mouth. The taste was incredible, tender, a light lemon pepper flavor coating his tongue.

"Good boy," Clay praised, releasing his hand and taking a bite of his own food.

George nearly choked at that.

__________

Clay pocketed his wallet, grabbing the pen and scribbling a generous tip onto the bill. As if he wasn't already spending enough money, you'd think a tip the price of George's meal would be a bit of an overkill. 

George patted his stomach lightly. The food really was amazing, and he was full from eating nearly his entire portion. Though, the feeling of guilt was everlasting within the pits of his stomach.

Clay stood up, stretching his limbs nimbly before reaching a hand out to George. "You ready to go back to mine?"

George smiled lightly, swatting his hand lightly before standing himself up. "First date and you're already taking me back to your place? Daring, Clay," he joked.

Throughout their dinner, the two talked about a multitude of things. College, coding, free time activities, how much of a bitch Clay was (the man wasn't necessarily fond of this topic presented by George). It was strange for George, to sit down with Clay and actually get to know him- to actually _listen_ to him- and be interested. It certainly helped there was no bubblegum in sight.

George learned Clay was a complete coding nerd, just like himself. He was constantly working on projects and had an immense passion for the second language, despite majoring in Biochemistry. "A jack of all traits", Clay had said about himself, which earned an eye roll from George.

Clay played soccer in high school, and would've continued if it weren't for school taking up his entire schedule. He was a "legend", and although self-proclaimed, George had a hunch to believe it. George mentioned he'd never play any sports, rather video games day in and day out. Clay laughed at him for being a nerd, though he couldn't say he didn't do the same occasionally.

Overall, it was a good time together. George doesn't want to admit it, but it's still obvious; the date went extremely well, almost too well, and George is stuck wondering if there will be another opportunity alike.

Clay scoffed, "You wish." George simply shook his head, slipping his jacket on before following Clay out of the restaurant. The taller man opened the passenger door for George, who rolled his eyes and stepped in.

"Did you enjoy your time? I didn't hear a thank you," Clay joked, starting the car to a slow rumble.

As much as George didn't want to give him the satisfaction, it was an incredibly expensive dinner. He did owe Clay _something_. "Thank you, your highness."

Clay chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled out of the parking lot.

It was silent for a short moment, George staring out the window watching lights flash by as Clay drove barely over the speed limit. He glanced at the man in his passenger seat, smiling thoughtfully before placing a hand on his thigh.

George quite literally jumped, eyes wide as he turned to Clay. He began to laugh, and gave George's thigh a squeeze. "Calm down, you're fine."

Was he? Absolutely not. It wasn't fine, the thoughts George was having. How heat was spreading throughout his body, stemming from his mid-thigh, right where Clay's hand rested. It wasn't fine how George was imagining Clay's nails digging deeper into his soft flesh, turning his heart with initial pain and eventual pleasure. His fingers trailing just up his thigh, so close yet never quite there-

No, George was certainly not fine.

With that said, he stayed silent, a blush on his face as he sunk into Clay's touch.

Clay patted him lightly, as a sign of praise. George's head was spinning.

Out of all things he was expecting from tonight, this certainly was not one. Clay's hand just _so close_ , it was so strange yet a feeling he wanted to become familiar with. Wasn't he supposed to be annoyed with Clay? Despise him, ignore his calls and texts? How did this even happen? Why is George practically melting at the other's touch?

Minx was going to have one hell of a monologue to listen to.

George pulled out his phone, looking at the messages he'd been sent while he was at dinner.

_wilbur: gogy! you want to come over tonight? movie, just you and me:)_

_minx <3: pls spare me the details if u get ur brains fucked out_

_minx <3: have fun gogy<3_

_Unknown Number: hey george, this is nick. clay told me y'all are on a hot date. hope it goes well;)_

George furrowed his eyebrows, "What the fuck?" Clay looked over quizzically. "Nick texted me. Didn't think he'd be interested in talking," George thought aloud. Clay smiled to himself, facing the road once again.

"Oh, Sappitus Nappitus. He's such a flirt, he'll probably try to take you away from me," he chuckled. George didn't have it in him to question the nickname.

"Who said I'm your's?" He responded, not looking up from his phone.

This, he soon learned, was a very bad thing to say.

Clay pulled into the complex, quickly putting the car in park. He gripped George's thigh tighter, turning his head to make deadly eye contact.

"I said it," his voice lowered as his fingers pressed sharply into flesh. George nearly squeaked, not wanting to focus on how _fucking good_ this all felt.

He could only nod in response, his lungs so unbelievably full with Red he could hardly breathe. Clay let go of his grasp, then retracted his hand entirely. George mourned the loss silently.

Clay hopped out of his car, quickly walking to George's side to open his door from him. As if he didn't just aggressively grip his thigh, as if there wasn't going to be a bruise forming.

George, still awestruck, stepped out of the seat. Clay stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

"Thank you for letting me take you out, Georgie. I had a great time," he said, and actually sounded genuine, to George's surprise. The shorter man smiled lightly.

"Yeah, yeah. So cliche." Clay laughed lightly, and George watched with ease how his face beamed. "But thank you, really. How do you even afford that-"

Clay pressed a finger to George's lips. "No questions, just accept my gifts to you." George held back a smile, pushing Clay's hand from his face. He let out a breath, watching as it circulated the air with chilly swirls. He noticed how Clay's nose began to redden, and it took a lot for George to not reach out and tap it lightly.

"Alright, it's cold as shit," Clay laughed, hugging himself and rubbing his arms. "You promise to drive home safely?"

George's heart warmed at the words. He rolled his eyes, "Yes, dad, I promise," to which Clay stiffened for a moment and pushed his shoulder.

"Shut the fuck up." George laughed, beginning his path to his car. Clay, contradicting his previous actions, lightly took George's wrist before he could walk away. He pulled him close, their breaths now swirling together. "There's a university soccer game on Saturday. Do you want to go with me?" Clay asked gingerly, his fingers still curled around George's wrist.

George smiled, his rosy cheeks becoming red from blush as well as the cold. "Sure, I guess," he responded, and Clay hummed happily. He let go of the other's wrist, signaling he was finished talking. 

"Great. See you then," he flashed one last smile before walking to the door. He turned the key within the knob, walking in and promptly shutting the door afterwards.

George stood in the winter cold for a moment, feeling the breeze nip at his ankles. He had a dumb smile stuck on his face, though he was unsure why. He didn't want to feel like this, and especially not when it involves Clay.

That's the amazing thing about feelings, though: they're unwarranted, not chosen. He can complain all he wants, he knows he's going to have to come to terms with whatever is going on soon. Maybe Minx could help. George sighed, finally walking to his car and sitting in the driver's seat. He pulled out his phone again.

_georgie:]: hii will, yeah i can head over in thirty?_

He decided a distraction would be best right now, and he'd talk to Minx when his thoughts were processed. He clicked on her contact.

_gogy: we didn't fuck you weirdo_

George contemplated responding to Nick, eventually, he decided against it, shutting his phone off as he started his car.

He placed his hands on the wheel, his forehead resting between them. This was all so much. Too much, and George didn't know if he could handle it all. He found himself wanting to at least try.

A deep sigh later, George sat up and put the car in reverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to start writing longer chapters! tell me how you guys like it!


End file.
